


Children of Fire

by Sky_kiss



Series: Royal Protector AU [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cold War, F/M, No War AU, Ozai serves as her royal protector, Politics, Slow Burn, Twisty Politics, Ursa is the Firelord
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-07-02 04:34:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15789048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sky_kiss/pseuds/Sky_kiss
Summary: When Sozin threatened to throw the four nations into chaos, Roku intervened. The Avatar ascended as Fire Lord, leading the world into a new era of prosperity. A century later, Ursa sits the throne. The Fire Nation and Earth Kingdom are on the verge of war once again. A plague ravages Ba Sing Se. There is talk of treason amongst the Fire Lord's court. As the age of peace nears its end, the royal children work to maintain the glory of their nation.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Finally got around to this. The first few chapters are probably going to be a little slow as we set things up but. Hopefully you'll enjoy. This. The slowest of burns.

No one city in the world boasted the grandeur of Ba Sing Se.

The Northern Water Tribe would protest. Theirs was an almost ethereal beauty, every structure a work of art, crafted from ice or snow. The Fire Nation would protest. The capital city was lavish. They prided themselves on their craftsmanship; the perfect marriage of stone and wood and gold.

They were shadows next to the ringed city. The three walls of Ba Sing Se housed more souls than all the Water Tribes combined. It was city of learning. A city of commerce, of art. It was all things to all people.

Huo rocked back on his heels, bringing his cupped hands back to his lips. He was a young man, no more than twenty, painfully Fire Nation in his coloring. He took a deep breath before exhaling into his hands, enjoying the spark of flame and the answering tug of heat. While not precisely cold, the northern stretch of the Earth Kingdom lacked the humidity of his homeland. He was still acclimating to the climate.

If he spent the next ten years of his life in the city, he wouldn’t adjust to the noise. Ba Sing Se never slept, especially here in the Lower Ring. The locals liked to tell him stories. At one point, the city was full of music. Even the poorest among them had laughed from time to time. The beggars would gather in back alleys, pooling what little coin they had between them to afford a decent meal.

There were no songs now. Huo pursed his lips, dropping into a low crouch. The shadows cut diagonals across his figure, obscuring his position on the low rooftop. No, the songs had stopped with the onset of the plague. Those foolish enough to wander the back alleys found themselves surrounded by corpses.

It didn’t matter how many they collected. It didn’t matter how many they burned. In the morning there were always more. Huo breathed into his cupped hands. The air smelt blessedly like smoke and less like smoldering flesh. A dog howled in the distance. Its cry drifted on the otherwise stagnant air, echoing between the cramped buildings.

Eerie was the word for it. He shifted his weight to his right foot. 

He missed the creature comforts of the Fire Nation camp. They were far from the Capitol but the company made it feel more like home. One of the older soldiers, a greying man named Lee, had taken to playing the tsungi horn for them at night. It’s call, low and mournful, had chased him to sleep more times than he cared to count. 

One more hour. Then Princess Azula would send someone to relieve him.

Movement below. Huo pressed back. His robes, an inky black, blended seamlessly with the darkness. He held his breath, strained his hearing. Two men, whispering amongst themselves. There was a distinctive, clipped quality to the way they spoke, suggesting they belonged in the Upper Ring. Dai Li agents. 

The Princess’ suspicions had been correct. 

He held his breath. A talented earth bender would feel the vibrations of his movements, even if the life of the city masked his presence. Huo frowned, glancing heavenward. They were at a disadvantage here. There was too much stone, too little kindling if it came to open combat. The princess’ words drifted through his head. 

He was not to engage. And if he was discovered…

He would be disavowed. No one would come for him. His touch strayed to his wrist, thumb pressing over the ink emblazoned there. The mark of the dragon. Lips pressed to a thin line, he shifted forward. The Dai Li were moving again, nearer now. 

The man on the right was shorter, his gait...distinct. His cloak was of a finer quality, hands linked at the small of his back. With the hood drawn low he could not make out his exact features. He spoke with a slow drawl, as if perpetually bored. The voice was...familiar. Huo could not place it. 

“Have the Dai Li fallen so far that they meet in this squalor?” 

The agent on the left stiffened, stopped. The earth shifted beneath their feet, a low rumble he could feel across the distance. One of the nearby shanties groaned; the framework swayed dangerously before the tremors subsided. He spoke slowly, “Your information is suspect. At best.” 

“Insulting.” 

“Call it what you like. The Grand Secretariat will keep vipers at arm's length.” 

“It’s charming he imagines he still has the luxury of choice. The Fire Nation encamped outside his walls. The Water Tribe making themselves at home in the ports…” 

Huo smirked, head tipped to the side. Not friends, then. The Dai Li agent turned, levelling an accusing finger at the center of his chest, “Silence. Ba Sing Se is always listening. A lesson you would do well to learn.” 

“For once we are in agreement. Where the princess goes, her eyes follow…” 

And the dragon was blessed with many eyes. The Dai Li nodded, stopping across the alley. The wall there was crafted of stone rather than wood. He pressed his palm flat against the surface. As if by magic, the entirety of the structure slid back, revealing a narrow passage downward. He motioned for the shorter man to go ahead. 

He chuckled, “The courtesies of Ba Sing Se are endless.”

“Into the tunnel. You’ve kept the Grand Secretariat waiting long enough.”

“Ah, ah, one moment. Before all that,” the man on the right turned. Something in Huo’s chest clenched, a strange sensation clawing its way up his spine. It was the feeling of being seen. In one fluid move, he pushed the cowl of his cloak back. Huo’s mouth went dry. 

Any soldier in the Fire Nation would have recognized his face. Commander Zhao, more weather worn after weeks away from the homeland, still carried himself with the telltale confidence of a military man. His lips curled up in a knowing smirk as he straightened to the full extent of his height. A false warmth flooded his tone, cordial as if he were sharing an afternoon tea with a long absent friend, “You’re in for a rare treat, peasant. Tell me, have you ever met one of the Dragon’s Watch?” 

Huo shifted back. He was already pressed against the wall. There was nowhere else to hide. He could try his luck and climb onto the adjoining roof. If nothing else, the thatch would keep the Dai Li from catching him immediately. He willed himself to calm. He would wait. 

“As I said, the princess has eyes everywhere. One is upon us as we speak.” Zhao turned his head to the Dai Li, “You can’t fault his loyalty, can you? Still keeping to the shadows. Unwilling to run. They’re all like that. Devoted, almost sycophantic, to their princess. It’s impressive.” 

He heard the telltale rumbling of stone a millisecond too late. Huo threw his weight to the side. The boulder impacted beside his head, the crack of stone enough to leave his ears ringing. A quick burst of flame helped to stabilize him as he kicked into a run. 

He was faster. He could outrun them. Huo leapt from the roof, arms coming up to shield his face. The alley behind this building connected to the thoroughfare. Even this late in the night someone would be there. Someone would see him. 

He ran, hugging the shadows. He was a knife in the dark and he would survive this. The skittering movement behind him did not matter. Huo burst onto the canal street, chest aching, a pinching sensation between his ribs. Moonlight cast the entirety of the street in silvery light. 

Empty. It was entirety empty. 

He was slow tonight. It was the cold. The thought came to him with a manic clarity. He was still adjusting to the climate and he was slow. Something moved beneath the bridge, plastered to the underside of the shallow arch. He’d fancied it a trick of the light. A ripple on the canal surface. 

The first stone hit his foot, clamping down. He bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood, willed himself not to cry out. The force of the blow shattered his ankle, driving him to his knees. He could break their hold. If he lashed out with his good leg…

He heard the grinding of stone. The texture of the ground shifted beneath him. Solid one moment and then murky, muddy. The earth gave way beneath his feet before swallowing him entirely. He didn’t have time to scream. Or to think. 

The fall drove the air from his lungs. 

The fall shattered his arm. 

The Dai Li waited below.


	2. Arrival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ozai returns to the Fire Nation after months abroad. Sokka arrives in Ba Sing Se.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel I should point out. For the most part, everyone is eight years older than their canon counterpart. Equally, I apologize that this chapter is quite weird. The next few will be more streamlined and I will do my best to keep the screen time divided equally between the two groups. Next chapter will be much more Ba Sing Se/Sokka/Azula/that plotline heavy.

To the untrained eye Lord Protector Ozai would have seemed more statue than man. As the crew scurried about the deck of the ship, eager to finish any last minute preparations before they made port, he remained motionless. He cut an austere image on the otherwise mundane vessel. His dark cloak billowed behind him on a barely existent wind. The ship’s captain paused in his work, head cocked to the side. 

Didn’t matter how many times they ferried the man. Didn’t matter if he was sometimes civil or brusque or had a taste for the dramatics. Any time they pulled back into port, any time they came home, the captain couldn’t shake the impression they were cursed with one of the shinigami. This vessel was its chosen. This vessel always delivered it back to its den.

“How long’s it been this time, spirit?” 

Ozai turned just enough to look at the man. The captain was smiling, an uncertain, twitching thing, as if knowing he’d overstepped his boundaries. He grunted in response, flicking his attention back to the sea, “Too long.” 

The man nodded, chuckling, well meaning, “Thought as much. Always your answer, ain’t it?” 

“It is always the truth.” 

“Suppose so; suppose so,” he lingered for a moment. Ozai had lost count of how many times they’d played out this same scenario across the years. He had never once continued the conversation; never once offered a concrete answer, and yet the sailor continued to try. He took a deep breath, exhaling wistfully. Not unlike a man waking from a particularly restful slumber, gaze lingering on the waves. They were calm today. The captain crossed to him, moving with all the strange, uneven grace of a man used to the rolling of the sea. He clapped a hand on Ozai’s shoulder, “You keep your vigil, spirit. The boys and I will see about getting you into port.”

Ozai watched him go. He whistled a jaunty tune to himself, unaffected by the Lord Protector’s sour spirits. Perhaps, after all this time, he was immune to them. Ozai shook his head, hugging his cloak more tightly about himself. The sea air remained chill, colored by the last traces of winter. Spring was only just upon them. It would be another few months until the world was truly comfortable. 

With any luck, he would still be around to see it. He had spent the entirety of the winter shivering away in Omashu at his lady’s behest. If she was feeling indulgent, he would be allowed a few months respite. It had been...too long since he last enjoyed a Fire Nation summer. As cloyingly poetic as it sounded, they were different from anywhere else in the world. Humid and lush and warm, as if Agni himself had decided to grace their people. The thought left a tugging sensation in his chest. Longing, as loath as he was to admit it. He missed his homeland. He missed his ladyship. On some level, he missed his children. 

Age was making him soft. He supposed it was fitting. With time water could erode even stone. He was no different. The Lord Protector braced himself on the railing, listening to the cry of the helmsman. The ship lurched forward before coming to an abrupt stop. All around them, life continued on without so much as a stutter step of hesitation. 

Merchants peddled their wares, unaffected by the chill, calling out to the sailors as they prepared to disembark. More than one young woman lingered near the far side of the docks, robes both too rich and too heavy for such a casual environment. One, a girl more than half his age, raised a hand to wave at him, fluttering her eyelashes prettily. 

Ozai smirked, tipping his head to her in return, enjoying the little flush of color before she managed to contain herself. Obviously new.

“She’s a pretty one, ain’t she?” The captain brushed his shoulder. The exaggerated heaviness to his steps suggested he’d moved with the express intent of being heard. No one was stupid enough to try and surprise him these days. “Not your type though, I imagine. If you have one.” 

The Lord Protector scowled, tossing a bag of coins at the man, “Our business is concluded.” 

“For now, spirit,” he tucked the satchel in his belt. The movement was deceptively fluid, always a blur to the untrained eye. The captain rocked back on his heels, stepping to the side to allow him passage. “You know where to find us. If it comes to that.” 

He was too tired to lash out at the presumed familiarity. He bowed his head, “Until that day, Captain.”

Experience said it would come sooner than expected. The Lord Protector made his way from the ship to the dock, waving off those foolish enough to approach him. The trip to the palace was arduous and would take more than a few hours on foot. There was an apartment not far from here which he used from time to time. He could rest for a time before continuing his journey. The Fire Lord would not begrudge him that.

A familiar voice tore him from his reverie. It was bright and nakedly pleased, colored with all the inexperience of youth, “Lord Protector!” The voice came again, nearer, perhaps forty feet to his left. “Lord Protector Ozai, over here!” 

Ozai stiffened. The fingers of his right hand curled inward, biting at the flesh of his palms. The temperature around him spiked. One of the passersby eyed him in naked distaste, snorting, before going about their business. He took a steadying breath, scanning the crowd. He fought the urge to sigh. 

The youngest princess was incapable of subtlety, even dressed in a commoner’s garb. Sozuka was a slender creature, more delicate in her build, resembling her grandmother Ilah more than anything. Her eyes were large, glittering and open and seemingly guileless. She grinned. The fool creature threw her arms out wide as if she intended to embrace him. Ozai shifted back a step, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“My lady,” a young man was hot on her heels, making his way through the crowd with considerably less grace. He muttered an apology, barely avoiding collision with an unfortunate silk trader. Ozai did not recognize him. One of Azula’s new acquisitions, perhaps. The soft, innocuous, quality of his looks suggested as much. “My ladyship, please, you swore not to make a scene…” 

She snorted, crossing her arms. The instinctive mimicry of his own posture was...amusing, “I am not making a scene, Hanji.” 

Ozai felt the full force of his exhaustion. He pinched the bridge of his nose, “Sozuka.”

His youngest shifted, dropped her eyes, “My apologies, Lord Protector. I was...exuberant. The Fire Lord sent me to collect you. She regrets she could not be present herself.” 

“She has more pressing matters to attend.”

Sozuka frowned. The girl motioned behind her, “The carriage is this way, Lord Protector. If you would follow me.” 

She was disappointed. It would pass. The princess was sixteen and still a child in so many ways. Children forgot about their disappointments. The girl turned on her heel, shoulders pulled tight as she navigated the crowd. She did not speak again until they were settled in the carriage. 

She made a show of watching the city as it passed them, fingers smoothing across the curtains. Ozai sighed. Petulant. She could be petulant when the mood took her. He shifted in his seat, too large for the cramped enclosure, “We are alone now, princess. Speak your mind.” 

“How are my siblings?” She did not turn to look at him. The fingers of her left hand twitched, little pinpricks of fire illuminating the dimness of the cabin. “Azula? Roku? They haven’t written.” 

“You know they cannot.” 

“You didn’t write either.” 

He pursed his lips, “Also an impossibility.” 

The girl huffed. There were rare moments where she more closely resembled her sister and mother, always elicited by her frustrations. She cast him an arch look, “How is my family?” She stressed the word. 

“Last I heard they were well,” he shifted, ignoring the weight of her gaze. “ I cannot say how they have been these past weeks.” 

“And you?” 

Ozai sighed. Despite his better judgement, he reached out and touched her cheek, “Tired, little princess.”

Sozuka grumbled. Something flashed through her gold eyes, a note of challenge; she sighed instead, lifting his arm and sidling up against him. She plucked at the front of his tunic dismissively before leaning her head against his shoulder, “Mother’s the same. She won’t say anything but...I can see it.” She frowned, “She never sleeps when you’re away.” 

He scoffed, fighting against the need to pull away from her. If anyone saw them it would be a severe breach in propriety, “That is an exaggeration.” 

“Maybe,” she smiled. It was one of Ursa’s smiles, more prevalent during her youth, before the rigors of the throne had worn away at her spirit. Sozuka shrugged, threading their fingers together, voice light and pointedly unassuming, “Maybe you should stick around a little while. Just to be sure.”

Ozai pursed his lips, scanning the city instead. They were making good time in the carriage and the steady footfalls of the ostrich horse’s feet were lulling him into a state of relaxation. He nodded in lieu of a proper response. He would let himself rest before they arrived at the palace. 

His daughter’s voice reached him even as he dozed, “Welcome home, dad.”

It would be improper to respond.  
____

Ba Sing Se had no direct access to the sea. Instead, a small port had been established well outside its walls, situated on a bay just to the north of the city proper. At the very least, the road was paved. It made the distance less of an obstacle and more of an annoyance. Sokka didn’t mind. After weeks at sea, it was nice to stretch his legs. 

Bato paused beside him, a heavy bundle of furs resting on his shoulder. His father’s idea; Sokka would escort the healers into the city. Bato would take one of the ships further up the coast to trade. Ever practical. He spoke slowly, as if considering, “City’s certainly seen better days.” 

Better days was an understatement. Billowy plumes of smoke drifted on the air. There was no one point of origin. They dotted the lower ring of the city, maring an otherwise clear sky.

Sokka pursed his lips, “Didn’t realize it’d gotten this bad.”

”These sort of things spread quickly if they aren’t contained,” the older man’s expression was blank. Sokka had known him long enough to read the underlying note of concern. The pinched corners of his eyes; the way his lips quirked down ever so slightly before he caught himself.

“Dad said the Fire Nation has things in hand.” 

“Your father would,” there was a gently chastising note. Bato lowered his voice, setting a hand on his shoulder, “A good chief does not cause unnecessary grief for the rest of his tribe. He shoulders the weight alone.” The older man pursed his lips, “Trust your instincts, Sokka. If it feels the Fire Nation has the situation contained, excellent. If not…” 

“I look out for the tribe.”

“Yes, Sokka. For your tribe.” 

He stressed the word. The past few years had showcased a marked change in his interactions with the tribes leadership. He was a man now. He had responsibilities. 

They were training him. It left a bittersweet taste on his tongue. 

Sokka swallowed. The air tasted like ash, even so far from the city, “I’ll be careful, Bato.” 

“Ba Sing Se is unlike anywhere else in the world, Sokka. You come from the South. We pride ourselves on our honesty. Here,” the man frowned again, squeezing his shoulder, “It’s all politics. Watch your speech. Observe how others address you.” 

“Be like dad?” 

He chuckled, “Something like that.” The sound of talons on stone interrupted the conversation. The two men looked up in unison. 

The procession would have suited a visiting king better than a contingent of healers. No less than twenty soldiers riding on ostrich horses. The barding was different from the usual fair, elegant and clearly emblazoned with gold filigree. The carriage, lagging behind a respectable distance, was also set with gold. 

Bato nudged his shoulder, “ It seems you're about to have your first audience.” 

“I thought the Earth King never left his palace.” 

“It won’t be the King you're dealing with.” 

The was an underlying note of warning. The procession came to a stop at the end of the dock. One of the soldiers dismounted, moving to open the carriage door. The man who disembarked was not strictly remarkable; in a crowd, Sokka doubted he would ever draw a second glance. He was not particularly tall, broad across the chest. He had gone bald somewhere along the line, aging his face prematurely. The only thing striking about him were his eyes. They were a shade of green, darker near the outer edge of the isis and paler as they moved towards the pupil itself. 

He held himself with a particular care, hands linked at the small of his back. His gaze slid over the ship, never lingering, expression muted. Sokka knew the type. When you lived in a place like Ba Sing Se, massive, wealthy, but largely insular, you developed a certain world view. Suddenly the healers at your door weren’t helpful. They were intrusive. They were ‘other.’ They were lesser. 

The man hummed, attention finally settling on Sokka. The right corner of his lips quirked up. There was nothing friendly about it, “You must be Sokka. The Earth King is most grateful for the Southern Tribe’s timely assistance.” 

They were pretty words. Pretty and practiced. Sokka bowed his head, “We’ll help where we can…” 

“Long Feng,” the man offered. The name was only vaguely familiar. The Grand Secretariat to the king.

“Long Feng,” Sokka gestured at the ship behind him. Some of the healers were milling about the deck now, regarding them with barely veiled interest. “It’s been a long journey, sir, and the winds weren’t always in our favor. I’d like to make sure my people get some rest. If you’ll just tell us where you want us…” 

“The preparations are being made as we speak,” Long Feng smiled, making a wide, sweeping gesture with his arm. “If you could spare a moment, young Chief…” 

“Chieftain’s son, grand Secretariat.” 

He stressed this difference. He was an envoy, not an authority. Long Feng’s smile never wavered, “Walk with me, Sokka. There are matters I would discuss away from prying ears.” 

The words were honey, smooth. Sokka scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck. Somehow, they left him feeling itchy.  
____

The Flame Wall illuminated the throne room even in his absence. Ozai lingered near the door, back pressed against one of the tapestries. The sound of his footsteps were hidden beneath the steady drone of conversation. Another meeting with her council. The gentle furrow in the Fire Lord’s brow, the way her fingers curled inward, reaching up to stroke her temple, suggested it had been a prolonged affair. Zuko was seated on her right. A lone bead of sweat cut a path down the side of his face. 

The young man was growing weary. 

Despite her illustrious heritage, Ursa was not a bender herself. Zuko was generating the fire. Zuko was maintaining it. The flame wall, while far from a necessity, was symbolic, a physical manifestation of the Fire Lord’s power. He would not bring shame upon his mother. 

Ozai was not a merciful man; he rarely felt pity or gratitude, even for his own spawn. He would attribute this lapse to homesickness, exhaustion. The Lord Protector took a deep breath. He focused on the heat of the wall, on the strength of the flames, feeding his energy into them. Zuko’s brow furrowed. The young man glanced up, scanning the edges of the room. To his credit, it took precious little time for the Crown Prince to find him. 

Zuko’s expression remained flat. He nodded, barely perceptible, before flicking his attention back to the assembly. Ozai smirked. It seemed the boy was finally learning some self control. 

The Lord Protector closed his eyes, only half listening to the conversation. In the three decades he had served the Fire Lord, he had heard most everything. Politics were largely stagnant. The Water Tribe was fretting over their continued strength. The Earth Kingdom remained a looming presence; some of the nobles wished for a trade embargo. Others refused to escalate. 

The same old game with a few new players.

Ursa’s voice broke the monotony, “If it is all the same to everyone, I believe we can safely call it a day. Gentlemen, consider yourselves dismissed.” At one point, they might have grumbled. Now, there was only silence. The men bowed to her, exiting without so much as a second glance in their Fire Lord’s direction. Ozai channeled more energy behind her, stoking the flames of the wall higher still.

Zuko waited until the last of the nobles filed out before speaking, “Minister Ren’s estimation is wrong.” 

The Fire Lord glanced up, “Hmm?”

“His estimation. I’ve looked over the reports myself, mother. We could provide the Earth Kingdom more relief. If we wanted.” 

Ursa arched one brow, drumming her nails on the table. The young man’s attention kept flicking to the movement, back to her face. Indecisive. So many years later and he was still plagued with the same damnable uncertainties. “We are alone now, Zuko. You may speak freely.” 

Some of the tension bled out of the boy’s shoulders. He cleared his throat, “Our storehouses are full. We could send our excess supplies where they are most needed.” 

“The Minister of Finance suggests we trade those goods. The Tribes are always eager for more foodstuffs.” 

“Yes,” he spoke carefully, gold eyes narrowing in concentration. “But the coin won’t make any difference. Not this season. Political capital, especially with the Earth King, is far more valuable.” He pressed his lips together, the right corner of his mouth turning up in an uncertain smile, “Isn’t it?” 

Ursa was silent, “Do you believe that is the correct course of action, my love?” 

It was a moment of truth. While charismatic, while passionate, Zuko lacked drive. He lacked conviction. The boy squared his jaw, nodding, “I do, Fire Lord.” 

She smiled, “Then I will trust you to carry it out. You are dismissed, Prince Zuko.” 

Zuko bowed before her, shooting a final glance in his father’s direction. He said nothing. The flame wall dipped momentarily as their son withdrew his energy. Ozai let it flicker and then fade into nothingness. It left the throne room oppressively dim, cavernous. His voice echoed around them, “That boy will never make a suitable Fire Lord.” 

He watched, darkly amused, as the muscles in her shoulders pulled tight. Her nails dug in her lap, momentary worry, before she got herself under control. She teased her lower lip between her teeth, searching the shadows, “So you’ve told me before.” 

“He’s weak.” 

She sighed, massaging her temple, “No. You perceive him as weak. There’s a difference, Ozai.” He hummed, pushing away from his place against the wall. The path to the throne was as familiar to him as the route to his own chambers. He linked his hands at the small of his back. Ursa smiled, voice gentle, “Have faith in our son.” 

He hummed in lieu of a response, focusing on the grace of her movements as she rose. She smoothed her hands down the front of her robes, regal and queenly. Time had been kind to the Fire Lord; she remained elegant, striking lovely even in the halflight. She stopped in front of him, barely a hairsbreadth, before raising an expectant eyebrow.

Ozai shook his head, dropping to his knees, bowing his head, “Demanding woman.” 

“Oh, please. I could ask for far more, all things considered,” Ursa grinned, pressing her palm against his cheek, fingers threading through his hair. “You were due back a week ago.” 

He turned his face into her touch, “I was delayed, my Fire Lord. My apologies.” 

“Don’t apologize to me, Ozai. You never mean it,” she knelt, pressing her forehead to his, “I’ve spent all morning listening to my court ramble, Lord Protector. Your report can wait until morning.” 

“How generous.” 

She chuckled, tugging at his hair, “First I’m demanding and now I’m generous. The road has left you indecisive.” Her expression softened. Ursa curled a finger beneath his chin, tipping his head back to look at her. Her eyes, a shade of amber, darker than his own, glittered prettily. “Still, it led you back to me.” 

Words were too easy to misconstrue. He lacked his brother’s easy charm, his softness. It was easier to act. Ozai reached up, fisting a hand in her hair, dragging her down to his level. He was distantly aware of her chuckle, airy and pleased, as he kissed her. The Fire Lord tasted of cinnamon and smoke. 

It was dangerous to touch her in public. It was stupidity, expressly forbidden. In the moment, he found it impossible to care. 

At long last, he was home.


End file.
